


Is it too much to ask

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Porn, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry falls into a thing with Zayn by accident. Louis falls into a thing with Harry on purpose. Harry falls in love with Louis by accident. And Eleanor makes sure everything works out for the best. Non-AU set during the Take Me Home Tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is it too much to ask

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [polybigbang](http://polybigbang.livejournal.com/). Art by the beautiful and talented [ofjustimagine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ofjustimagine), who should be told how amazing she is [here](http://write-asrain.livejournal.com/11054.html) because she is SUPER AMAZING in addition to being unbelievably patient. <3
> 
> Betaed by the incomparable [balefully](http://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully) under less than ideal circumstances.

Harry has always wondered what it would be like to kiss Zayn; he finds it hard to believe that anyone who has seen Zayn's mouth hasn't at least considered it. So it's not hard to lean in when Zayn presses his lips to Harry's, bubbly drunk off the record label's champagne. It's the last night of the European leg of the tour, and Harry's been laughing too loudly at his own jokes for ages, taking breaks to tickle Niall who's snugged up on his other side on the bed. "Can't you stop talking bollocks for five seconds, mate?" Zayn said, and Harry lost his train of thought and replied, "Yeah? Make me."

And now Zayn is kissing him, lips soft, tongue sliding into Harry's mouth whilst Zayn's hand cups his chin, and it's everything Harry could have imagined. He sighs and pulls Zayn closer by the front of his t-shirt and feels the room go quiet and still around them. When Zayn trails off from a full-on makeout to little pecking kisses at the corners of Harry's mouth, Harry opens his eyes and looks round. Liam is politely focused on his phone, and Niall and Lou are pulling faces at each other and trying not to laugh, but Louis is staring and frowning like he can't work out what's happening. Harry ducks his head to avoid meeting Louis's eyes, and Zayn's next kiss hits the tip of his nose.

"Good job shutting him up, Zayn," says Niall cheerfully, and it gives everyone else licence to laugh. Harry and Zayn grin at each other like maybe it was a joke anyway, and if it was, that'd be all right, but Zayn's eyes keep dropping to Harry's mouth over the rest of the night, and there's a flush to his cheeks that isn't just champagne.

 

Harry’s not really high, but he’s tipsy and starting to burn, so he slides into the cabin to lie down. Zayn joins him after a few minutes, sliding into the bunk beside Harry and rubbing his cheek against the cool pillowcase. They look at each other, so close up, and Zayn goes nearly cross-eyed trying to focus. “Hiii,” says Harry hoarsely, and Zayn kisses him again, nibbling at his bottom lip, sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth as soon as Harry opens to him. He tastes piney with weed, and Harry feels a little dizzy from the smell of his skin. He thumbs at Zayn’s cheekbone, and Zayn squeezes his waist. One kiss runs into another and then another and then another, until they’re both hard, and Harry can feel Zayn’s cock straining in his shorts, the length of it tilted into his hipbone. The question he needs to ask stumbles off his tongue, and he has to repeat it, “Can I touch you?”

His mouth is watering for more than that, but he takes what he’s given when Zayn nods and kisses him again. He shoves his hand down the front of Zayn’s shorts, feeling out the heat of Zayn’s cock, running his fingers up to the head and then back down to the tight sac of his balls. Zayn makes a little noise and spreads wider for Harry, flinging one skinny leg over Harry’s hip. Harry licks his palm, smelling Zayn on his skin, and wraps his fingers around Zayn’s cock again, still too dry to get up a good glide, but he doesn’t need it. Zayn is already gasping against his mouth, humping into his hand, coming with a low moan. He bites at the side of Harry’s neck, and Harry’s toes curl, his dick going slick at the head with precome.

Zayn doesn’t ask before he pushes Harry onto his back and slides down between his legs. But he does look up through his eyelashes before he leans in to suck at the head of Harry’s cock, and Harry nods, watching Zayn’s lips part, watching them spread into a perfect pink O as Zayn takes him in. The wet heat of Zayn’s mouth makes Harry fidget, and he reaches down to stroke at Zayn’s hollowed cheek. Zayn sucks Harry’s cock with lazy bobbing motions, taking the base in hand to guide it for his mouth, and Harry gasps as Zayn takes Harry’s balls in his free hand, pinching the sensitive skin like he already knows what Harry likes.

They’ve never done this before, or Harry hasn’t. No matter how drunk they’ve all been, no matter how keyed up after a show, he’s never touched any of his bandmates’ cocks, and they’ve never touched his. If there was a reason for that, he can’t think what, as Zayn swallows to take him deeper and Harry moans out loud. It doesn’t take long, Zayn’s lips sliding tightly down his shaft, the tip of Zayn’s tongue working his foreskin, and Harry gives a garbled warning before he comes. Zayn pulls off and the first spurt of it hits him in the chin before he can duck out of range. Harry can barely wait to lick it off him, to get his mouth on Zayn’s again and taste himself on Zayn’s tongue.

He’s hazy and oversensitive as Zayn drags his shorts back up, and Harry falls asleep with Zayn’s lips against his cheek, their bodies settled into an easy sprawl. He wakes to Liam with a super soaker aimed at his forehead, a patch of cool water spreading in his hair, and he blinks the cabin into focus. Louis’s stood behind Liam, but the water pistol in his hand is drooping at his side like he’s forgotten about it. Liam seems to think this is just a regular cuddle they’ve busted in on, but Louis’s eyes say he knows better, and Harry looks at Zayn instead of at either of them. He’s stubbornly asleep, or faking, one of his hands gripping Harry’s waist to keep him in place. “We’ll be out in a bit,” he says, when Liam nods back towards the stairs.

“Sure you will,” says Louis. Harry isn’t sure if the words only sound bitter to him.

 

“What about Perrie?” says Harry, when Zayn pulls him into a kiss against the wall of his cabin that night. He’s sober enough to remember this time, to feel a sharp pang of guilt as Zayn’s lips fit over his.

“It’s fine,” says Zayn.

Harry frowns. “Does she know?” Zayn doesn’t talk to Harry about his relationship with Perrie; maybe he doesn’t talk to anyone except Louis about what’s really going on beneath that cool exterior. But Harry is being stupid enough hooking up with a mate and a bandmate, and he doesn’t want to be stupider than that.

“Not yet,” says Zayn. “But she will. She’s knows that, like, I do this sometimes. It’s just, it’s something I need.” Harry has turned a blind eye to the girls after shows since they stopped trying to pull together, and it’s strange to realize that now he _is_ one of those girls, a way to resolve a physical need. “Is it all right?” asks Zayn. “Do you want me to call her? Just to be sure? I don’t want you to think, like, it’s not all right. Or you’re not, you know.” They’re so close together, Zayn’s breath hot against Harry’s cheek, and he can’t move unless he pushes Zayn away.

“I’ll believe you if you tell me it is.”

Zayn kisses him, softly at the corner of his mouth. “All right then, Hazza, I’m telling you, it’s fine. Perrie’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine. Promise, mate. I don’t want to hurt you or her. I can handle it.”

“Okay,” says Harry. “Then kiss me, you fool.” Zayn laughs at him until they’re too tangled up to laugh anymore, and the drag of Zayn’s tongue over his is making him weak kneed and light headed.

 

Harry hadn’t expected to be so turned on by Zayn getting done up like a girl, his dark lashes even blacker, his jaw shaved to shocking smoothness, his tattoos covered in that soft, satiny blouse. He didn’t think Zayn could get any hotter, honestly, after two days of lazy, half-stoned handjobs on the boat, learning the noises Zayn makes when he comes. But here they are, standing so close that Harry can smell the powder on Zayn’s skin, and Harry’s dick is about to bust out of his jeans he’s so hard. “Want to fuck you in that skirt, Veronica,” whispers Harry in between takes, burying his nose in Zayn’s wig.

“Workplace harassment,” replies Zayn, and gives Harry’s aching cock a cheerful grope that shakes him down to his toes. He can’t even think of a witty retort, and they’re already setting up for the next shot as Harry stares at Zayn’s mouth. He tosses his fake hair over one shoulder and presses a manicured nail into Harry’s chest. “Now fuck off before you make me ruin my lip gloss.”

Harry leans in a bit like he wants a kiss, just to tease, and Ben calls, “Wait for the cameras, lads, but that was perfect.”

Harry’s blush is hot and sudden, hopefully smoothed over by makeup, and he stumbles back as Ben watches, his expression too knowing by half. “We’re skilled actors,” he says belatedly.

“Obviously,” says Ben. “Now just do your skilled acting for the camera, please.”

 

They’re traveling and recording and barely stopping for a few days, and when Harry next has a chance at a hotel bed, he assumes Niall’s the one following him off the bus. But it’s Zayn, stood beside him as Paul checks out their suite and ushers them in, two separate bedrooms Harry has a hot, squirming suspicion they won’t need. He leaves them with a useless admonition to “be good” and heads for his own room. At least the kind of trouble Harry sees in Zayn’s eyes won’t require Paul’s intervention.

“Decided not to kip on the bus then?” says Harry, dropping his bag by the door with a heavy thump.

“Thought it might be nice to sleep in a real bed for once, you know. Or not sleep, like, possibly.” His gaze flicks sideways and then back to Harry, and Harry takes a step closer. A room all to themselves for a whole night, and Zayn obviously has a plan already brewing in his head.

“We could order up room service and bounce on all the furniture. Is that what you were thinking?”

Zayn catches a finger in one of Harry’s belt loops to draw him in. “Might like to bounce on some furniture with you, I reckon.” He kisses the side of Harry’s neck. “Might like to fuck you over some furniture too, if I’m honest.”

Harry’s belly twists with delight and apprehension. He hasn’t been proper fucked in ages, and he can just imagine spreading himself for Zayn on one of the shapely sofas in the lounge, or one of the big soft beds they haven’t even seen yet. “Have you got condoms and stuff?” he asks.

Zayn kicks at his bag. “Prepared for this.” He touches Harry’s cheek, leans up to kiss him, and Harry takes a deep breath before kissing back.

They stumble into one of the bedrooms, tripping over each other’s feet, and it’s strange to have so much space after the boat and the bus and a series of subterranean dressing rooms. Harry tugs at Zayn’s t-shirt, sliding it up to his shoulders and moving his lips down Zayn’s chest as Zayn tugs it off the rest of the way. His flies part under Harry’s fumbling fingers, and Harry’s so close to being on his knees already that he goes down the rest of the way, sinking to the floor in front of Zayn and mouthing at the dark line of hair below his navel. Zayn strokes at Harry’s hair as Harry gets his mouth on Zayn’s cock through his pants, tonguing at the damp cotton of Zayn’s boxers until it’s salty with precome. 

“You’re a bit of a slut, Harry Styles,” Zayn says, thumbing along the curve of Harry’s ear, and Harry knows it’s true, nods against Zayn’s hand as he reaches for the waist of Zayn’s pants, eager to get his mouth on Zayn properly.

He takes Zayn in deep on the first go, has to back off and breathe and try again before he gets into a rhythm he can keep up, tongue working Zayn’s dripping slit every time he pulls back. “That’s good, Haz,” Zayn says, tugging a little at his hair. “That’s too fucking good.”

Harry pulls back a little, looks up to see Zayn flushed and shaking, desperately close. He gets reluctantly to his feet, keeping a hand on the spit-slick length of Zayn’s cock. “Are you going to fuck me?” he asks.

“Fuck, yeah,” says Zayn, and leans in to lick the taste of himself out of Harry’s mouth.

It’s a struggle, making it to the bed, and Harry pushes the plush duvet off the end while Zayn rushes back out of the room to find a condom and lube. Harry spread-eagles on the big bed, and his fingertips can barely grip the edges as he stretches. Zayn is rustling and swearing in the other room, and Harry wonders if Zayn will want to prep him, or if Harry will have to do it himself. He reaches down between his legs, rubs at his hole in anticipation. He won’t tell Zayn how long it’s been, that he hasn’t had anyone inside him since the random bloke who took him home one night just after the end of the X Factor tour, when he was still Harry Styles who lost X Factor and not Harry Styles, international pop sensation. Since then it’s been girls he could date in public and blowjobs in stairwells with blokes he couldn’t. Harry presses a little harder at his hole, remembers the burn of it and circles his fingertip against his rim while he waits for Zayn with the lube.

“Jesus,” says, stopping in the doorway to watch. “Fuck. Don’t waste time, do you?”

Harry goes up on one elbow to look at him, keeping his other down between his legs. “Need some help here, mate.”

Zayn crawls onto the bed, staring at the spread of Harry’s arse. “Can I eat you out?” he asks, touching Harry’s tight hole with a fingertip, making him shiver and moan out in the lush silence. No lapping waves or passing footsteps, just the subtle sound of their breath.

“Yeah,” says Harry, looking at Zayn’s mouth. “Fuck, yeah.”

Zayn licks straight into him with no more preamble, up between Harry’s resting fingers and already messy with spit. Harry groans at the sudden heat, the slippery pressure of Zayn’s tongue right over his hole. Zayn’s hands cup his cheeks, part them and Harry’s thighs tremble as he spreads them wider for the steady working of Zayn’s tongue. He opens Harry up with long, slow strokes, teasing flicks against the tight ring of his hole until he’s wet and loose for one of Zayn’s fingers, bearing down against the burn of it and letting Zayn into him more deeply. Zayn’s tongue and his clever fingers take Harry apart until he’s begging and squirming, his cock smearing against the flat of his belly as he arches up for Zayn’s tongue. “Zayn,” he says, “Fuck, please.”

Zayn looks up from between his legs and grins. Harry’s already so wet he’s not sure how the lube can do much now, but then Zayn slides two slicked fingers straight up him, and Harry can feel the difference, the changing sensation as the lube coats him inside, eases the friction as Zayn squirts it straight into his hole. The coldness of it is momentary but shocking, and Harry gasps and wriggles back onto Zayn’s hand, seeking the warmth of his twisting fingers. He’s getting greedy for it, ready for the third finger that spreads his hole wider, makes room inside him.

The emptiness makes him cringe and draw his thighs together when Zayn pulls out to roll on the condom, and Harry reaches down to touch his hole, amazed at the way he can dip his fingertips inside. He looks at Zayn’s cock, flushed in the grip of his hand, and arches up to take it in, begging for something inside him. He’s never been this desperate to be fucked. And then Zayn’s sliding into him, filling up the space he’s made until Harry is speared on the length of his cock, and every breath is a struggle. “You’re tight,” says Zayn, kissing Harry’s shoulder. “Sure this is all right?”

Harry digs his knees into Zayn’s sides, long legs wrapping him clumsily. “Won’t be as tight when you’re done, yeah?”

Zayn grins and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek, shifts forward until he’s deep as he can go in Harry’s arse. He fucks like he gives head, steady and tender and purposeful, and Harry takes it and takes it until his cock is throbbing from lack of contact and his balls tingle tightly with every one of Zayn’s thrusts. He starts to wank himself because he can’t stand the tension, the way his arsehole sucks at Zayn’s cock, the blooming ache where it’s breaking him open. Zayn bites a bruise into the unmarked skin above Harry’s clavicle, swears softly as Harry works his hips, fucking back onto Zayn until the angle is just right, the pressure driving the frantic rhythm of Harry’s hand. He’s desperate to come, shaking with it, and then Zayn reaches down to help him along, his hand fitting over Harry’s, their fingers falling together around the blazing heat of Harry’s cock. He’s dripping precome, thick drops spraying over Zayn’s fingers and his own. 

“Come for me, babe, yeah?” Zayn whispers. “Let me feel you come on my dick.” And Harry does, immediately, like the bottom’s dropped out of the world and all that’s left is this dizzy spiral of pleasure taking him apart. His hand and Zayn’s are slick with spunk, and Zayn slides a couple of sticky fingers into Harry’s mouth as Harry struggles back to reality.

Zayn’s quiet when he comes, gasping like it’s a relief, his hips stuttering against Harry’s arse. “Wanted to do that for so long,” he sighs, rolling to the side and chucking the used condom into the bin. He curls a hand around Harry’s thigh, tracing up to the slick opening of his arsehole, and Harry murmurs sleepily, rolling around the thought that Zayn has wanted this and thought about it. He’s easy for Zayn’s stroking fingertip, sore and slippery when Zayn presses inside the place he’s just been. “Wasn’t your first time, was it?” he asks. “Not like, for sex, obviously, just like this.”

“No,” says Harry. “But not lately. I haven’t, lately.”

“Yeah,” agrees Zayn. He cuddles into Harry’s side and nuzzles a kiss into his jaw before announcing that he’s going to clean his teeth. Harry watches him walk away, skinny legs and no ass to speak of, the dark splay of his tattoo between his shoulder blades.

When Zayn comes back smelling minty and cool, Harry asks, “You said you’d wanted this for a long time. What did you mean?”

Zayn frowns. “Just meant, like, I’d thought about it and all, looked at you and thought, I’d like a piece of that. Same as anybody, really, mate. You’re well fit.”

Harry folds Zayn back into his arms. “Is that all then? Just that I’m well fit?”

“You know it isn’t.” He kisses Harry’s cheek, drags the tangled sheet scrunched down at the bottom of the bed over them, and falls asleep in the crook of Harry’s neck.

 

It’s hard to remember the lines sometimes, when Zayn’s hand on the back of his neck makes him shiver, when every little touch is an invitation. They tease and flirt on stage every night, dig eager fingers into each other’s thighs after, breathe into each other’s hair until they can be alone. Niall looks delighted, and Liam looks sweetly tolerant, and Louis pretends he isn’t looking at all. But he is, peering over his laptop screen, pausing by the crack in the curtains when Harry and Zayn are holed up in a bunk on the bus. Maybe he thinks he’s being subtle, or maybe he’s just not thinking at all, but Harry wants to know what’s going on in his head. There was a time when he could have just asked, but lately Louis is like a foreign country, with heavily guarded borders and customs procedures he doesn’t understand at all. So he slides deeper into a habit with Zayn and lets Louis get farther and farther away, until the nights when they aren’t together are rarer than the nights they are.

Louis can’t stop looking, can’t stop worrying over it, can’t stop trying to make sense of his own reactions. He’s never wanted Harry for himself, not like this, not for sex, and the low burn of jealousy in his belly catches him off-guard. Maybe there’s some part of him that never quite believed Harry hooked up with guys, since he’d never seen it happen, and that’s likely the same part that made him laugh and pull away the one time Harry had tried to kiss him on the mouth. They’d laid in bed together in their flat and discussed their future, and Harry left his hand over Louis’s for a moment too long as he promised they’d be best mates forever, and then he leaned in for a kiss. Louis had pushed him away, laughing and making a joke of it, but when he was drunk, Harry admitted it hadn’t been a joke at all. It’s a good job they don’t live together anymore, probably.

It’s a strange sour feeling when he looks at Zayn and Harry together now, Zayn’s lips brushing Harry’s ear on-stage, the two of them going missing and coming back mussed and smelling of sex a few hours later. Louis hates how much he cares, how much no one else does, Niall and Liam going on like nothing’s happened.

Finally, he breaks and talks to Zayn about it, when the two of them are the only ones left awake on the bus late at night, and Scarface is replaying the muted DVD menu on a loop. Zayn’s got his head tipped back on the sofa like he might already be asleep, and Louis can see a small purple bruise above the deep v-neck of his shirt. “What’s happening with you and Harry?” he asks abruptly, and Zayn’s shoulders flinch.

“Dunno how graphic an answer you want to that, mate.”

“Just a general overview would be fine.” Louis picks at a loose thread in the seam of his shorts, watches his own fingers instead of Zayn’s face.

“We fuck, sometimes, as mates. It’s, like, whatever, nice.”

“Just nice? I think Harry would be hurt to hear that.”

Zayn tips his head sideways to give Louis a sceptical look. “Don’t think he’s bothered, Lou. I’m not, like, impugning his virtue.”

Louis wrinkles his nose crankily. “What the fuck is impugning?”

“Like, slagging off. I’m not saying anything bad about him. I’m just… you know, it’s cool. We’re cool. What do you want to know for?”

“You’re my mates. You’re both my mates. And we’ve never done that, none of us. So, like, I have to watch out for the integrity of the band and everything.”

Zayn just looks at him, considering. “Are you jealous?”

Louis shudders dramatically, keeps his eyes off Zayn’s still. “Nah, mate. You’re dead sexy and all, but not quite my type.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

There’s nothing he can say to that, really. “Why now, man? Why start something now? It’s been ages.”

“It wasn’t, like, planned. It happened, you know, and then, like, once it did, it was easier to do it again. And then again. It isn’t a big deal. It doesn’t have to be, if we don’t make it one.” Zayn curls his legs up on the sofa, and Louis watches him fold up small, like he needs to protect himself.

“Okay,” says Louis, even though he’s still feeling sour and jealous and petty inside. It’s not really fair to take that out on Zayn. “And everything’s all right with Perrie, yeah? This isn’t, like, a cry for help or something, is it?”

“Yeah, she’s real good. We’re real good. But she’s not here, you know? She understands.”

“So you, like, agree about it? Like, what happens on tour stays on tour?”

“We have an arrangement. I wouldn’t.” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”

“Of course, mate. Of course. I just didn’t know.”

“You’ve seen me go home with plenty of people before, and you didn’t ask if it was hurting Perrie then. We look out for each other. She’s got her own stuff, and I’ve got Harry.”

Louis’s never been anything but a one-girl guy, and it’s hard for him to imagine wanting something more complicated than what he already has, with Eleanor a continent away. But at the same time he understands; sometimes a cuddle from the other lads isn’t enough for him. Sometimes wanking in his bunk doesn’t give him what he needs. And sometimes when he looks at Harry now, he feels a flicker of heat along with the annoyance, imagines the taste of Harry’s mouth on his. “I didn’t mean to judge,” he tells Zayn belatedly. “I mean, I’m not judging. I just was thinking about it, how it is with all of us, and then with you and Harry.”

“It’s not so different,” says Zayn. “It’s like, you know, we’re mates, but we’re just mates who touch each other’s dicks now. Not so weird.”

“Do you tell her about it? Like, when you’re with Harry, or anyone, do you tell her what you get up to?”

Zayn shrugs. “A bit, sometimes. If it’s, like, if I need to process or something. If it’s not what I expected, or they said something weird, or something was good and I want to try it out on her, you know? Just, like, if it’s relevant.”

“Do you think about her then? When you’re with Harry, like, do you think about her and how you could be doing it with her?”

“Yeah, I dunno, mate. It’s not that simple, you know, when you think about someone. I think about her all the time. I love her and I wish she was here. But it’s sex, right? It’s sex with my mate, and I love him too, and I like to think about him when I’m with him.”

Louis nods like he understands, even though he doesn’t. He stares at the TV, but it’s still looping the DVD menu. Eventually Zayn slides closer and nudges him with his shoulder. “Things are all right, yeah? You and Eleanor are all right and all?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. Nothing wrong with her. But I’ve been, like, feeling a bit off lately. Like there’s something else I need, you know. While we’re out here.”

“You mean like Harry’s fit little arse?”

Louis is startled into a laugh, and Zayn grins slyly at him. “Never gave it much thought, if I’m honest.”

“Don’t know if I believe that, mate. Hard to be around a thing like that and never think of it. He can’t be arsed to wear pants if there aren’t cameras pointed at his dick. And it’s all right, if you’ve had a look, if you’ve thought about it. Even if you don’t ever, like, do anything, it’s all right to think of it.”

Louis rubs a hand over his face, laughs a bit. “I’m not having some kind of gay crisis, mate. I’ve done my share of wanking with my mates in the changing rooms, same as anyone. I can appreciate a bloke’s arse without falling apart.”

“Just thought you might be having a bit of a Harry crisis,” Zayn says quietly. “Everyone’s thought you were doing it for years already. That must feel a bit weird. If you hadn’t been, but now you are.”

It feels like Zayn has zeroed in on a weak point, like digging his thumb into a bruise. They never talk about the Larry thing, carry on like no one thinks about him and Harry fucking all the time. Louis has had to work so hard, so bloody constantly, not to let it make him hate Harry. And now he feels like he’s falling apart. “Yeah,” says Louis. “All right, yeah.”

Zayn nods. “For what it’s worth, he’d probably go for it. Bit of a slag, that Harry Styles.”

They leave it there, get back to normal things, squabble over who has to get up to put in the next DVD, fall asleep all tumbled together on the couch, and only jolt awake when the bus stops.

 

“Els, can we talk about something?” Louis asks, sprawled in a hotel bed that feels too big after his bunk on the bus. He’s settling so quickly into having her here, knowing he shouldn’t because she’ll be off again in a matter of days, and the space where she’s curled by his side will be empty again. And it’ll just be him on his own, and Harry and Zayn eyefucking in front of his face at every opportunity.

She nuzzles the side of his neck, kisses just above his collar. “What’s up, babe?”

“I’ve just been thinking a bit, about how things are when you’re not here. Do you ever think about, like, doing something about it? Relieving the pressure, you know?”

She strokes his hair, tugs a little behind his ear. “You mean besides all the wanking on Skype, I suppose?”

“Yeah. Like, does it ever feel like not enough?” His heart is beating so fast, and he doesn’t know where he’s going even. “Or like you want something else?”

“Someone else, you mean?” she asks.

“Yeah, no, I don’t know. Fuck, I don’t know. Nevermind.” He watched Harry kissing Zayn last night, full on in the back of the bus when they thought everyone else was elsewhere. He’d watched the soft openness of Harry’s mouth, the way Zayn’s hands fit on his narrow hips, the easy way they folded together, and he can’t scrub it out of his head now, even though he’s so fucking glad Eleanor’s here.

“No, sweetheart, no.” She sits up, tucking her hair behind her ears. “What’s got you worked up like this?”

“It’s just been weird lately. You don’t know what’s gone on, but, like, Zayn and Harry are sleeping together, and I can’t stop thinking about it when I look at them. I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t stop looking at them and feeling...” He gives a hard little shrug, but it doesn’t ease the tension across his shoulders.

“You’re jealous,” she says calmly. “But who are you jealous of, I guess? Or do you want to get into the middle of that sandwich?”

Louis’s startled into a laugh. “Fuck.”

“I couldn’t blame you for it, honestly. Bunch of well fit lads, your bandmates.”

“No denying that, really. I’m serious though. I think, I don’t know, I might want to…” He can’t say it. This is too far and too weird and he should be able to push all these feelings to the back of his mind like every normal person.

“You might want to fuck Harry Styles.” She kisses the corner of his mouth. “We’ve all been there.”

“I haven’t though,” he says. “I haven’t been there. I didn’t think I would be.” All the rumours and speculation and that one awkward kiss, and it’s never really occurred to Louis that it could be real, that he could look at Harry and _want_ like this.

“I know,” says Eleanor. “But now you are. And that’s all right with me. That’s something we can work with.”

Louis feels so small, so grateful for her calm. “How?”

“Well, we’ll have to talk about that, won’t we?”

 

He’s not too drunk to feel his fingers, just enough to make him brave, when he knocks on the door of Harry’s hotel room. None of them are on the buses tonight, all strung along a single corridor on the top floor of the hotel, a small horde of girls still chanting for them against the barrier outside the lobby doors, although none of them plan to come down. 

He should go to sleep, but instead he’s been sharing a bottle of whiskey with Niall, mixing it with water to make it go down easier, savouring the burn down his throat. Niall’s the best to get drunk with because he doesn’t get sad like Liam or wander off to shag Harry when he’s buzzed like Zayn. He’s been cuddled into Niall’s side for an hour, trying to make sense of the baseball game on the telly, but all they’ve concluded is that if it goes over the wall it’s a run, and they both knew that anyway.

So now he’s stood in front of Harry’s door, knocking too softly and then harder, leaving his knuckles against the cold surface as he waits for a noise from inside. He can’t be certain Zayn isn’t already here, he realizes belatedly, can’t be certain they aren’t already fucking, and he nearly turns to go before the door wrenches open under his hand.

Harry’s in a hotel robe, which means he’s probably naked underneath, and Louis does a quick survey of his long, tanned calves, the bird wings and butterfly antennae peeking out above the hastily tied robe. “Hiya, Lou,” says Harry, stepping back instinctively to let Louis through. “All right?”

“Hey, Hazza.” Louis has to brush past him to get through the door, and he remembers when touching Harry was as easy and instinctive as breathing, the way their fingers used to find each other all the time, the way their elbows would collide and they’d smile. He didn’t used to think about touching Harry at all because nothing stopped him from doing it. But now he very consciously pulls Harry into a hug as the door slips closed, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and holding tight.

Harry hugs him back, and he’s still getting taller, so it seems like it’s different every time, the way their bodies fit. “Something wrong?”

Louis shakes his head, nose brushing the side of Harry’s neck. He’s half-hard, and he’s not even sure why, feels guilty for how much the feel of Harry’s body turns him on, the way he wants to bury his face in Harry’s neck and kiss him there. He lets his lips brush, softly, against the side of Harry’s neck as he pulls back. “Can I kiss you?”

Harry nearly jumps backwards, banging his elbow against the wall and swearing softly. “Can you what? Lou, how drunk are you?”

“Not very. Not too much. Just enough to, like, come here and ask.”

Harry slides fully onto the wall, wide-eyed and flat against it, like Louis is forcing him backwards. “I don’t understand. Like, now? Why now?”

Louis spreads his hands, gestures surrender in the air between them. “I keep seeing you with Zayn, and I’m. Haz, I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop wanting.” He loses his nerve, sinks back against the opposite wall. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“Why now?” Harry says again, softer. “Why after all this time? Is it just seeing me with someone else? You have Eleanor. You love her.”

“I do. I love her so much. But I told her that while she wasn’t here, I might, like, pursue other avenues. And she agreed. We agreed. If it’s you, it’s all right. And I talked to Zayn, and he said him and Perrie have an arrangement, and…”

“So you talked to Zayn and Eleanor before you even asked if I wanted to?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know what to say. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I just. I need something.” They stare at each other for a moment too long in dismal silence.

“You can,” says Harry. “It’s all right. You can kiss me.”

Louis takes him at his word. He trips forward, across the hall, and Harry’s leant back so far against the wall that Louis has to go up on his toes for their lips to touch. But when they do, it’s like an electric current running the length of his body, like every part of him is turned on and sparking. Harry leans into him after a moment, one hand curling around Louis’s hip, keeping him close as his lips part. Harry kisses softly, uncertainly, and Louis’s sure he doesn’t kiss Zayn like this. But now that they’re doing it, it’s easier to tease. “Come on, Hazza. Do it like you mean it then.”

He tastes Harry’s smile, and it’s lovely and friendly and new, and then Harry pushes him back and licks into his mouth properly. He tastes like stale chewing gum, cool on his tongue, and Louis breathes him in with greedy abandon, pulling himself up on Harry’s shoulders, wondering if they’ll get off like this right here.

He slips his hand under Harry’s robe as the careless knot at his waist comes undone, feels out the hot, smooth skin of his hip, the cut of it leading down to the thickening line of his cock. He knows how big Harry’s dick is, but he’s never held it in his hand before, stroked up the length of it and felt Harry shiver closer to him. He strokes the thick vein underneath, circles his thumb around the fold of Harry’s foreskin.

Harry breathes in sharply, his hips twitching towards Louis’s hand. It’s too dry for an easy glide, and Louis brings his palm up for Harry to lick, Harry looking at him heavy lidded as his tongue slides across Louis’s hand. When Louis touches him again, his hand slides easily up the length of Harry’s cock, and Harry kisses him harder, fisting a hand in Louis’s t-shirt and groaning deep in his throat. Louis hasn’t got much experience with other boys’ cocks, but he wants to go to his knees right now, suck Harry into his mouth and make him come, if only he could stop kissing Harry long enough to do it. Harry’s dick is hard and thick and long, leaking messily as he strokes it, Harry’s breath already going short and wheezy.

“Want to suck you,” Louis whispers at the corner of his mouth, and Harry comes before he can do more than that, spurting messily over Louis’s fingers and the front of his top, gasping out like he’s been wrecked by the words.

Harry is still shuddering and gasping a moment later when it looks as though his coltish legs give out and he topples forward, burying his face in Louis’s belly. But when he looks up, it’s obviously no accident, his cheeks flushed and his mouth opening greedily, like he needs it even worse than Louis does. Harry’s fingers duck under the waist of Louis’s sweats and shuck them down, and a moment later Harry is sucking his cock, the first mouth in two years that isn’t Eleanor’s, graceless and needy and wet. Louis slides a hand into Harry’s thick hair, greasy strands snarling his fingers, and Harry swallows around the head of his cock.

It’s too fast, too shocking, too much, and Louis moans softly as Harry’s hand pushes at his balls, tugging them down and then rolling them gently between his fingers. Louis spreads his legs, sinking down a little against the wall, and it lets Harry stroke the tender stretch of skin between his legs, right up to the edge of his arsehole and then back down again. He can’t help the little hiccupy noises that come out of him as Harry sucks him down, pulls back only to take him deeper. It’s all a desperate blur by the time he comes, toes curling in his socks, one hand scraping against the wall as the other holds Harry’s hair.

Harry stands, robe slipping off his shoulders and revealing a long strip of his naked body, tattoos and tan lines and two of his nipples. He licks his swollen lips, and Louis watches him swallow, imagines the salty flavour of Harry’s tongue. “Was that all you wanted?” Harry asks, like he’s just going to straighten up his clothes and leave, and Louis’s chest goes tight. When was the last time they even hung out just the two of them?

“No,” says Louis. “Unless you want me to go.”

“I don’t.” Harry ties up his robe again, fiddling with the belt like he can’t think where else to put his hands.

Louis leans up to kiss him on the cheek. “Shall I stay then?”

Harry grins, dimpling under Louis’s lips. “Promise you won’t steal all the covers this time.”

“I wouldn’t ever.”

Harry puts on a pair of pants and Louis strips down to his, lets Harry pull him into a cuddle on the bed, their breathing matching, soft and even. It’s only when Harry turns off the bedside lamp and they can no longer see each other that he says, “Was this a one-time thing? Like, was that all?”

Louis’s feeling soft and happy and like he could happily curl up here to stay for a while, like they used to in their flat on mornings they didn’t have to go anywhere, tucked into bed together with the telly and two mugs of tea. “It doesn’t have to be,” he says.

“And Eleanor’s really all right?”

“We discussed it. I’ll phone her in the morning and give her all the sordid details. That’s what we agreed.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“That your penis is horribly misshapen.”

Harry pinches his side. “Are you going to tell her you want to do it again?”

“If you want to do it again. I don’t want you to feel, like, obligated or anything. I liked it, though. I liked it a lot.” It’s funny, how much easier it is to say now that they’ve done it, now he can feel the shape of Harry’s mouth properly instead of just fantasizing.

“Good,” says Harry. “Me, too.” He throws one leg over both of Louis’s, like that can hold him to his word, make him stay. As if he wasn’t already going to.

 

The next night, there’s a part of Louis that’s disappointed when Harry slips into a car back to the hotel with Zayn, without so much as a backward glance. He’s still carrying on some sort of conversation with Liam, but it’s nonsense, echoing back whatever Liam’s saying, and they’re wired enough that that’s almost like real communication. By the time the rest of them are shuffled into another car, Harry and Zayn are long gone, and Louis distracts himself by tugging on Niall’s chest hair and taking pictures up his nose on Liam’s phone until the battery dies.

He's burrowed into his pillows a couple of hours later, mobile tucked to his ear, Eleanor murmuring thickly to him. She's got to leave for class, she keeps saying, but when he asks if he can please come, she says, "No. No, not yet," and draws it out even longer. His hand is trembling on his dick, stroking too lightly, and his fingers are slick with lube. He likes it best like this, a slow, messy wank with Eleanor listening. He could come in five seconds flat if she’d let him.

The knocking at the door is sudden and startling. "Fuck," he whispers.

She sighs at him, and he shivers with her disappointment even though he's done nothing to deserve it. "Did you come?" she asks.

"No. The door. There's someone at the door."

"Can you leave it?" For the first time, he knows for sure that she's close too, the waver in her voice she can't hide. He pictures her in bed at her flat, dressed except for her knickers, skirt rolled up around her waist so she can slip her fingers into her pussy. He wishes he could see her, smell her, taste her.

The knocking comes again, louder, and he worries that someone's tried to phone him and he hasn't noticed, that something's actually happened. "They're not going." He lets go of his cock, reluctant, wipes his hand on the duvet and sits up. "Want to hang on? Let me see what they're after?"

"Yeah," she says. "Be quick."

Louis shrugs into the hotel robe, willing his erection down so he doesn't give too much of an eyeful to Paul or whoever. But it's Harry at the door, looking down the hall as though he'd been about to leave. His hair's a tangle of sweaty curls, and Louis can picture too easily how Zayn's fingers would have made it like that. Besides that, he smells earthy with sex, and there's something loose-limbed about him as he slouches against the wall.  
"Hi," says Harry. “I know it’s late. Were you sleeping?”

“No. I was just on the phone with Eleanor.” He pulls the robe tighter around himself and Harry’s eyes dip down. Louis can’t hide that he’s still half hard, not with Harry actually looking.

“Oh,” says Harry, and instead of retreating, he licks his lips. Maybe this is what they’re doing now, swaying closer to each other instead of farther away all the time.

Louis steps back, but just to leave a space at the door, a space Harry could slip into. “She’s still on the phone, but you could come in.”

“Is that what you want?” says Harry.

Louis nods as though he doesn’t need to think about it at all, as though it doesn’t feel huge and bizarre. He turns back into the room, and he hears the door shut behind Harry as he picks up his phone again. “Els, Harry’s here.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and he checks to be sure the call is still connected, watches Harry fiddle with the ice bucket to avoid making eye contact. “Is he going to stay?” she asks. “Is he going to help you out?”

“Depends what you think,” says Louis. “I don’t mind.”

“You let him in, Lou. What do you want to do with him now?”

Louis flushes hot. “What do you think I should do?” he asks. Harry looks up and mouths, I can go, pointing towards the door. But Louis shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d need my help with that sort of thing, babe.” He wonders if she’s pulling her knickers on, getting her books and things together, if she’s going to ring off any second and go to her class wet and disappointed.

“Can I talk to her?” says Harry, and Louis’s surprised by the sound of his voice, the sudden closeness of him. He thumbs on the phone’s speaker. “Hi, Eleanor, it’s Harry. I didn’t know I was going to be interrupting or I wouldn’t have come. Do you want me to go?” Sometimes Louis forgets that Harry and Eleanor were friends first, that they know how to talk to each other without him as a go-between.

“I wouldn’t mind listening,” she says, “if you weren’t ready to leave yet.”

“What do you want to hear, love?” asks Louis, and he doesn’t flinch away when Harry looks at him, lets his eyes linger on Harry’s mouth.

“Do you want to touch him, Lou?” she asks. “Can I listen while you touch him?”

“Reckon you could,” replies Louis. Harry’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and Louis has to get him out of them, tug the t-shirt over his head and strip the jeans off his skinny hips. He sets the phone on the bed carefully. “Harry’s got too many clothes on,” he explains over his shoulder. His hands find Harry’s bare waist, and Harry’s looking at his mouth again.

“Can I kiss your boyfriend?” Harry asks. He sways forward even before Eleanor says, “Please do,” and when their mouths meet, it’s soft and gentle and hesitant. Harry’s tongue flickers over Louis’s lower lip, and when he opens his mouth, Harry presses closer to meet him, teeth grazing, making the kiss go from sweet to wild.

Louis wants to tell Eleanor how it feels to kiss him, how Harry’s body fits with his as Harry presses him back down onto the bed. They haven’t been just naked together before, and Harry’s skin is burning hot under Louis’s hands as Louis grips at him, drags his nails down Harry’s back and fits his hands around the curve of Harry’s arse.

“Are you kissing him, Harry?” asks Eleanor, and Harry lifts his head to say, “I am.”

“What’s he taste like?”

Harry nudges his mouth against Louis’s for another moment. “Toothpaste, mostly. Minty.”

“Good,” says Eleanor. “What are you going to do with him next?”

Harry looks at Louis under him, and maybe they’re both wondering why she’s directing the question to Harry, but it’s all right. Louis’s not sure he could answer anyway. “Haven’t thought about it yet,” says Harry.

“Reckon he might like to blow you, if you’re interested.” Eleanor makes this suggestion so easily, as though it’s something she already knows is true, like maybe she knows him better than he could even expect. He’d said it to Harry last time, feeling strung out and greedy with need, but she can’t know that. And Louis doesn’t balk, although he thinks he’d be well within his rights to. Harry’s looking at him, soft and unreadable. He’s never sucked cock before, but that doesn’t seem like it should hold him back.

“Are you interested?” Louis asks, and his voice sounds hoarse already, like he’s already wrecked it on Harry’s cock.

Harry’s eyes close for a moment, and he nods. “Yeah, reckon I am, Lou.” He rolls onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows, and his dick is lying practically flat against his belly, jerking a little with his breaths. Louis positions himself across Harry’s lap and takes his cock in hand. Harry gives a little moan, tipping his head against the pillow.

“Will you tell me how he is, Harry?” asks Eleanor, and Louis’s cock twitches. It’s like he doesn’t even need a voice of his own, with her and Harry talking somewhere above his head. 

Louis presses his open mouth to the tip of Harry’s cock, guides the head between his lips and tries to think how this is supposed to go. The taste of Harry fills his mouth, salt and skin and slightly bitter, and he sucks gently, folding his lips in, closing his eyes as he gets used to the weight of Harry on his tongue.

“He looks like he’s thinking really hard about it,” Harry tells Eleanor seriously, and Louis lets his bottom teeth graze, just lightly on the underside of Harry’s dick. Harry gasps and reaches for the back of Louis’s head, but Louis’s pretty sure he likes it, likes the scrape of Louis’s teeth on his sensitive skin. He takes more of Harry’s cock into his mouth, lets the head slide over the back of his tongue. Harry’s hand in his hair tightens, and Louis narrowly avoids gagging. “Go slow,” says Harry to Louis, and his voice is soft, gentle. “Take the time you need to get used to it.”

Louis thinks about Eleanor hearing Harry’s instructions, and his cheeks go hot. He didn’t think it would be like this, that she would actually hear him doing it, wanting it, taking it. He swallows as Harry’s cock slides deeper, and the wetter his mouth is, the easier it is to take it, to have Harry in him like this. He sucks and swallows and bobs a bit, getting used to it, and Harry moans and trembles and tries not to push him down. There’s a rhythm to it, breathing and swallowing, taking Harry in so far that he nearly chokes and then pulling back.

“He’s good,” Harry says to Eleanor, and Louis looks up. “He’s doing a really, really good job.”

“I knew he would,” says Eleanor. “He can do anything he puts his mind to.”

Louis wonders if she can hear the wet sound of his mouth as he works Harry’s cock, keeping his hand snug on the base because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t take it all in. Harry’s dribbling precome over his working tongue, and Louis grinds down into the bed, amazed at how much it’s turning him on, getting Harry off, feeling him shiver and moan and try to hold back. “Lou, I’m going to come. So soon.”

He hears Eleanor gasp, imagines her fingers sunk deep in her pussy as she listens to him suck Harry’s cock. Maybe she didn’t expect this to turn her on either. He wishes he could taste her too, feel her coming on his tongue. But he’ll settle for what he has.

Louis pulls back, says, “I’ll swallow,” and goes down again. Harry grips the duvet tight between his fingers as Louis nudges a hand up to cup his tightened balls, rolling the solid weight of them as Harry’s cock fattens up even more.

“Put your fingers in me,” Harry gasps, arching up towards Louis’s mouth, offering himself. “Please.” And Louis’s fingertips are nearly there anyway, so he dips one into Harry’s arsehole. It’s easy and slick, and he remembers that Harry’s already been with Zayn tonight as he presses in deeper, feels Harry clench down as he starts to shoot. It’s hot and salty on his tongue, not like eating out Eleanor, and he has to keep swallowing as Harry moans above his head, loud and helpless.

Louis pulls off, gasping and hot faced, his fingers still circling slowly in Harry’s arse, wringing him out. “Els?” Louis says. “You still there?”

“I have to go in a minute, love,” she replies. “But you were so good. I’m sure Harry will tell you just how good you were.”

“I love you,” Louis tells her, nuzzling into Harry’s thigh and letting Harry stroke his hair. He wants to ask if she came, but that doesn’t feel like something for Harry to know. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, babe. I’ll talk to you later, all right? And maybe Harry too.”

“Talk to you later, yeah,” says Louis.

“Bye, Eleanor,” says Harry, scratching a hand through Louis’s hair, rubbing at his scalp.

“Bye, Harry. Bye, Lou. Have a good time.” She rings off, and Harry shifts the phone to the bedside table.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks.

Louis looks up at him, cheek resting on Harry’s thigh. “Think so,” he says. His voice is wrecked, hoarse and low, and his lips are vaguely numb as he smiles.

“I didn’t mean to come in in the middle of something,” says Harry.

“Worked out all right, though, yeah? You came at the end too.” He pinches the inside of Harry’s thigh, forces a smile out of him.

“Was that the end? You didn’t get off.”

Louis is well aware of that. His dick is still tucked in tight between his belly and the mattress, and his balls are aching. “Not the end,” he agrees. He shifts a bit onto his side, gives himself room to get a hand down between his legs. His dick is still vaguely slick with the lube from before Harry arrived, although that seems like the distant past now.

Harry licks his lips. “You could fuck me if you wanted. I’m, like, well up for it. And’s Zayn’s already, like, you know, so it wouldn’t be hard.” He looks down, away, and the whole angle of his body is unfamiliar. Louis has never seen Harry ashamed before, not of anything. Louis slides his hand up Harry’s thigh, rubs his thumb along the curve of Harry’s arse. There’s a part of him that wants to try it, sink into Harry where he’s still wet. But as he slips his fingers in between the cheeks of Harry’s arse, he imagines Zayn already here, imagines Harry opening to him, and he doesn’t think he can. It’s so much, sucking Harry’s cock and then contemplating this too, Harry above him frowning slightly as Louis touches him again, rubs over the slick opening of his arsehole.

“Zayn fucked you tonight?” says Louis, even though it’s not a real question.

“Yeah,” says Harry. He bites his lip, slides a hand into Louis’s hair again.

“Did you come with him too?” Louis pushes himself up to get a better angle, tucks his fingertips into Harry’s arse and feels the muscle flutter around him.

“Don’t be jealous,” Harry says, and he starts to pull away, out of reach, but Louis kisses him, breathing out at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not jealous. I’m just thinking what a slag you are.” Harry’s not wet like a girl, but he takes Louis’s two fingers to the first knuckle with a sigh, opens up for them. “I don’t mind.”

Harry tips their mouths together for a moment, fits his lips over Louis’s and licks at the taste of his own come before he replies. “I’m not though. It’s just you and Zayn, and I’m not.”

“Shh,” says Louis. “All right, you’re not.” He fucks his fingers deeper into Harry’s arse, and Harry shivers, oversensitive. He doesn’t understand why Harry needs the reassurance, but that’s all right. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Harry shivers, right down deep where Louis can feel it, and he’s so close to the helpless flutter of Harry’s eyelashes. “If you’d like. I just came here because I thought you could use a hand.”

“And I could, couldn’t I? Give me your hand.” He licks Harry’s palm and drags it down between his legs. “I won’t need much.”

Harry kisses him while he strokes Louis’s cock, slow, shallow kisses that make Louis feel like he can’t breathe, and then deeper, wetter swipes of his tongue. “Is that good?” Harry says, as Louis gasps, hitches his hips closer to the tight curl of Harry’s hand.

“You fucking idiot,” replies Louis, and Harry laughs into his mouth as he twists his wrist and makes Louis come.

 

When Harry slips out to shower in his own room the next morning, Louis tucks himself a ball of duvet and phones Eleanor. He catches her as she’s getting ready to go out, and he can imagine her so clearly, stood in front of the mirror in her room, smoothing her fingers along the silky hem of her dress as she talks. “How’d you get on after I left this morning?” she asks, and it’s not as though she actually hesitates before she says it, but there’s something uncertain in her voice. Louis’s so sure of her—Eleanor is always so sure of herself—but just for a moment, he thinks he’s gone too far.

“It was all right. Harry jerked me off and we went to sleep. You didn’t miss much, really.”

“Feels as though I missed almost everything, honestly. Hearing you like that, Lou, it wasn’t the same as being there.”

It’s like something inside him freezes, goes cold and solid with dread. She sounds so regretful. “You didn’t like it?”

“I like that you liked it. God, listening to you suck him off was so hot, but I also felt really helpless. I couldn’t be there, and you couldn’t talk to me.”

“Rude with your mouth full, innit?” he says, with a desperate little laugh.

“Very,” she agrees. “But if I’m going to hear you fucking, I think I want to see it and smell it and taste it when I kiss you.”

Louis thinks about how long it will be before she’s there again, the restless stretch of days between now and then, and he feels selfish and mean for wanting to bargain, for trying to have Harry and Eleanor both. “I’ll stop then. No trouble.”

“No, babe, I don’t want you to stop. Harry’s there, and I’m not, and I know he’ll take good care of you. I just don’t know if I need to hear it for myself. I’d rather you tell me after.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully.

“Tell me everything you can remember though. Pay attention for me when I’m not there. I expect plenty of detail. A full report.”

“What will you do if I don’t?”

“Put you over my knee and spank you, obviously.”

Louis’s dick twitches, and he rubs at it through his pants. “Not sure that’s really a punishment, love.”

“I can be creative,” she replies. “I can be very creative, if it’ll help you learn a lesson.”

 

He’s so worked up just hearing her voice, just bloody thinking about being with her and nothing could make that be soon enough, so that he’s already got a hand in his jeans the moment Skype connects. He feels out the stiffening length of his cock, and she grins at him from her bed in Manchester.

“Louis Tomlinson, you utter slag. Get that hand out of your pants and put it where I can see it.” He presses his hand over the camera lens.

“Like that, babe?” he asks.

“No,” replies Eleanor, sticking out her tongue.

Louis uncovers the camera and they smile at each other for a moment, fond and warm. “Hey, Els.”

“Hey, Lou. How’s tricks?”

“Miss you.”

“You too. But you’ve got a nice boy to keep you warm nights, yeah? You’ll need to tell me a bit about that. I haven’t heard a single torrid sex story in fully two days.”

It’s been easier to tell her things the more he does it, like a muscle he’s getting used to using. “He sucked me off in the green room last night. It took about three minutes, and Paul almost caught us at it anyway.”

“Why so quick?” she asks, and it’s hard for him to keep his hand from straying downward again.

“Honestly? He put his finger up my bum, and I came like I was dying.” He’s had to practice that one in his head a few times, to make it sound funny instead of earth shattering, the way it felt when Harry was touching him last night. He had still been gasping on the sofa with Harry in his lap when Paul came through the door expecting some other kind of chaos. He’d seemed relieved, but Louis had just blinked at him without a word, his hands clutched around Harry’s hips.

“So you liked that, did you?”

“Yeah,” says Louis. “Like, loads more than I expected to, honestly. I never really thought of, like, putting something up there for fun. Not that I didn’t know people did, but other people, not me.”

“Sounds like you as well now, sweetheart. If you liked it. It’s all right if you did. It’s no odder than anything else the last few weeks.”

“Not too weird for you then?”

“You’d have to do much worse to turn me off. Do you want him to fuck you?”

Louis swallows. The thought has crossed his mind repeatedly in the last 24 hours, but he hasn’t let it take root. “He’s huge.”

“So you’ve said. But I bet you could take him, yeah? I bet you could be a good boy for him. Just like you are for me.”

“I don’t know.” Her words make him want to move, squirm away or run or touch himself. His arsehole clenches a little. “I don’t know.”

“But you want to find out, don’t you?” 

He sometimes wishes they just talked on the phone instead of doing this thing where she can see his face. “A bit, yeah.”

“Want me to be there with you? I could watch him fuck you. Would you like that? Would that make it easier for you to admit you want it? Because I can see you do. It’s all over your face, babe.”

Louis’s cheeks are burning, and he’s hard in spite of himself, squeezing his thighs together. “You’re not here.”

“I’m looking at you right now. I can keep looking at you, no matter what you’re doing.”

“Would it turn you on, watching?”

“Reckon it would. If I’m honest, I’ve always wanted to see you put that arse to better use.”

“Dirty,” says Louis.

“Say that when you’re sitting on Harry’s giant cock, sweetheart.” She grins at him, all carefree and lovely, like she doesn’t mind a bit that he needs this, needs Harry to ground him while she’s far away.

 

In the end, he does it without Eleanor. He remembers the tight, sad tone in her voice after the first time he sucked Harry off, and he doesn’t want to pull her in from a distance again. “Think I’m gonna ask him to fuck me,” he says in the afternoon, as a warning, as he’s sitting on the floor of some kind of storage room at the venue waiting for someone to notice he’s missing.

She nods on the screen of his mobile, which is cupped between his hands like a flame that might gutter out. Her smile is nearly smug. “I expect a full report in the morning.”

“So you don’t mind, if you’re not here? We’d talked, like, I don’t know, like maybe you wanted to.”

“Unless you think this will be the only time, I’m sure I’ll get my chance. I’ll see you both in September, if not sooner, and I’d love to watch him take you apart.”

Louis’s breath catches. “Reckon I’d like that.”

“I know you would, sweetheart.”

He’s beet red and still slightly tingly when Paul pulls him out of the broom cupboard by one ear a moment later.

 

He doesn’t wait for Harry to come find him that night, conducts an entire conversation in eyebrow wiggles with Zayn and slides into the lift beside Harry at the hotel, laying claim. Harry nudges him with one shoulder and smiles. He smells like fruity shampoo from his shower, and Louis wants to kiss him more than you should in a lift. “Liam’s going out tonight,” says Harry, with his eyes on Louis’s mouth. “Did you want to go too?”

“Nah,” replies Louis. “Bedtime for me, I reckon. Be nice to lie down for a bit.” He’s not even being subtle, and he’s glad it’s just him and Harry and Basil in the lift because his knees feel a bit watery as he speaks.

Louis presses him into the nearest wall as soon as the hotel room door closes, goes up his toes for a kiss and finds Harry's mouth already open for him. He's buzzing with adrenalin, the excitement of the show bleeding together with anticipation of what he's about to ask for. Harry's hands slide around his waist, and he bites at Louis's lower lip, dragging him in even closer. Louis's dick is fattening up, pressed into the solid heat of Harry's hip, and he drags his mouth away from Harry's to whisper, "Harry. Haz. I think you should fuck me. I think you should."

Harry makes a sound, garbled and desperate, and grabs for Louis's arse so fast that Louis gasps in surprise. Harry's hands feel enormous and warm, kneading at him through a layer of worn cotton, fingertips spreading his cheeks already. "You're not wearing pants," sighs Harry. "You call me a slag and you're not even wearing pants."

Louis sinks his teeth into Harry's earlobe. "Takes one to know one." He grinds into Harry's hip, moans as Harry tugs down the back of his trackies, eager fingers stroking his bare skin.

"Should I fuck you now?" asks Harry. "Is now okay?" He presses a fingertip to Louis's hole, rubbing dryly. 

"Now's perfect, mate. Bloody perfect."

Harry nearly kills them both stumbling to the bed, clipping Louis's shin as he backs him into the corner of the coffee table. He murmurs, "Sorry, sorry," nuzzling at Louis's mouth.

"Make it up to me," Louis says.

They’re in Harry’s room, so it’s Harry’s job to search out a condom and lube while Louis establishes himself in the centre of the bed, stroking his cock and remembering the way he’d come with Harry’s finger in his arse. Harry’s dick is swinging between his legs as he kneels to hunt through his bag, and it would be ludicrous if it weren’t practically hypnotic, if Louis weren’t so focused on the thick length of it, the fact that that’s going to somehow fit inside him.

Harry stands up, a bottle and a small plastic square in his hand. He looks at Louis on the bed, sucks on his lower lip. “Are you sure?” says Harry.

“Come here,” replies Louis. “Don’t waffle about it.”

Harry settles into the gap between his thighs, rocking their hips together so Louis gasps. “I haven’t done this a lot,” Harry admits. “Not as much as you think.”

“How do you know what I think?” Louis asks, rubbing a hand up the back of Harry’s neck until Harry bows his head in close.

“Set expectations low and no one will be disappointed. S’my rule of thumb.”

“Oh no, curly, you stole that one from me. Don’t even try.” He guides Harry into a kiss, and their dicks rub together, hard and flushed. It would be so easy to get off like this, heat and friction, but then Harry rubs his thumb behind Louis’s balls, and it’s probably meant to be a pun, but it makes Louis gasp and arch towards him.

“Good?” says Harry.

And Louis says, “Don’t stop.”

Harry fits two slick fingers into him, one after the other, and Louis’s amazed that it doesn’t hurt, that he’s able to open around Harry’s knuckles, take him in and keep him there. Harry’s brow is furrowed in concentration, and he circles his fingers until every press of them is burning Louis up with pleasure. Louis gasps and shuts his eyes and doesn’t beg, but he’s so empty when Harry pulls out that he trembles with the loss.

Harry’s cock is bigger than his fingers, stronger, blunter pressure that parts Louis and stretches him even more. It burns for an endless moment, and Harry waits with him through it, holding still, kissing Louis’s cheek and the tip of his nose. “Can I?” he asks, and Louis nods, tilts his hips up for Harry’s first deep thrust. The sudden fullness is devastating, strange and dangerously good.

“Fuck, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes are wild, worried. “Okay? Should I stop?”

“No,” says Louis. “Don’t stop.” He makes Harry kiss him, drags him down and holds him deep, squeezing with his thighs as Harry starts to pull back.

“God, Lou,” he says against Louis’s mouth, and he doesn’t say more, but he starts fucking Louis faster, working his hips to a steady in and out rhythm. It’s good, so good, and he wraps a hand around his dick to work it in time to Harry’s thrusts. He thinks of Eleanor, imagines what he’ll tell her tomorrow, how he’ll explain this feeling of being split open and stuffed and loving it.

Harry comes with a soft, sudden cry, like he doesn’t expect it, and his hips stutter and stop. “Fuck,” he says. “Sorry.”

“No,” says Louis. “But I’m so close.” He is, his cock dribbling precome, his arsehole throbbing hotly.

“Let me blow you,” offers Harry, holding the condom as he pulls out, leaving Louis gaping for him. He presses two fingers back inside, and when he takes the head of Louis’s cock in his mouth, Louis comes immediately, gasping and trembling.

He feels wrung out after, tired in every part of his body. Harry wipes them both down with a damp flannel before dropping it over the edge of the bed and cuddling into Louis’s side. “Was that okay?”

“Exceeded my low expectations,” replies Louis. “Give us a kiss then.” 

Harry’s mouth finds his in the dark, gentle and warm. Louis holds him close, remembers all those nights snuggled in Louis’s bed in their flat, the way they used to fit together so comfortably. He feels the ease they haven’t had between then and now, and he’s not sure he knew how much he missed it. “I’m glad we can be friends again,” he says.

“Did we stop?”

“No. But you know, it’s been different.” He strokes a hand down Harry’s back. “Not that this isn’t different still. But now it feels more like it did when we lived together.”

Harry nods without lifting his face from Louis’s neck. “Yeah,” he says hesitantly. “Yeah, it does.”

Zayn is pretty pleased that he’s trained them all to leave him be when he’s in his bunk unless there’s a really bloody good reason they need to talk to him. Often it’s because he wants his sleep, but lately every spare minute has been spent on jewellers’ websites and guides to the various cuts of diamonds, comparing designs and building his own idea of what he wants. If he’s going to ask Perrie to marry him, as an artist, even an amateur one, he feels like there should be something special about the ring, something that’s just about him and Perrie. Because he’s never been more fucking terrified of anything in his life, and he wants her to take one look at the ring and know everything he’s trying to tell her.

Harry likes to knock on the wall beside Zayn’s bunk when he comes to cuddle, a series of sharp knuckle raps and then a long pause to see if Zayn will answer. Zayn shuts his laptop and pushes aside the curtain. Harry smells like cinnamon, and his hair is flat on one side like he’s slept on it. “All right, Hazza?” asks Zayn, opening the curtain a bit wider.

“Looking for company,” replies Harry. “Niall and Louis are on the other bus, and their definition of quiet and relaxation isn’t like mine. So I reckoned I’d come round and see you.”

“Liam?”

“On the phone with his mum. Not even something sexy.”

“Yeah, mate, so rare that Liam talks sexy to his mum.”

“You know what I mean.” Harry shifts back a step. “So can I come up? Or are you doing something?"

Zayn doesn’t even glance at his laptop. “Sure thing.” He holds out an arm for Harry to curl into, fits his hand around Harry’s waist, fingertips dipping under his jeans, trailing over Harry’s smooth skin. Harry burrows into Zayn like a kid, dropping his face into the curve of Zayn’s neck and sighing sleepily. But he’s hard for all that, his cock a thick line against Zayn’s thigh.

“Just came for a cuddle, did you?” Zayn says, shifting his leg to nudge against Harry’s dick.

He can feel Harry smiling more than see it. “Wouldn’t say no to a hand, but you could also just, like, tell me a story.”

“A sexy story? Like what Liam tells his mum?”

Harry’s breathy laugh ruffles the short hair behind Zayn’s ears. “Yeah.”

“Once upon a time there was a cheeky young lad called Harry Styles,” says Zayn, “and he snogged every girl in the kingdom and then moved onto the boys.”

“I have not,” protests Harry, finding Zayn’s nipple and pinching it into a tight little point.

“You never specified a true story, babe. You’ll take what you get.” He talks nonsense for a few minutes, gives Harry in the story a handsome prince and a castle and a gold chamber pot, and Harry rubs little circles over his nipple, teasing and stroking until Zayn gives up and kisses him, presses their mouths together and opens Harry up with his tongue.

 

When Zayn kisses Harry after the last LA show, it feels different, less easy than it has been all summer, and he knows why. By now he’s got a specially commissioned ring waiting for him back in London and a beautiful girl to give it to. It feels real now, in a way the designs on his laptop never could. Zayn knows that things will have to change, that things are going to be different for them both, and even as he’s grabbing for Harry’s arse, pressing him back against the wall of a broom cupboard, he knows that they won’t be doing this for very much longer.

“Come back to my room tonight, yeah?” says Harry, mouthing down the side of Zayn’s neck.

“Yeah. Get me out of this cupboard and we’ll get right on that.”

Zayn doesn’t really notice the car ride through the city, winding up into the hills, because it’s all blurred with Harry’s fingers creeping along his inseam and Harry’s mouth pressed against the curve of his collarbone. Niall’s dozing under his snapback in the seat in front of them, and Zayn doesn’t hesitate to slide his fingers down the back of Harry’s jeans, getting a good, firm grip on his arse. Harry hums contentedly into Zayn’s collar as Zayn’s fingers trail along his crack, and if this is the last time they fuck, the tease of this will make it that much better.

 

Zayn tells Louis before he tells anyone else, invites him over their first night back in the UK and shows him the ring. “Fucking hell,” says Louis, sinking into a kitchen chair. “That’s not even a little bit fake.”

“I bloody well hope not,” replies Zayn, cupping the box between his hands. It seems too impossibly small to hold his entire future, and he can't even imagine what Perrie will do when he finally gets to ask her.

“That’s, fuck, that’s proper grown-up stuff, mate. When are you going to ask her?”

“I’m thinking, like, in the next couple of days. We’ve got all the promo, but I’m here, and she’s here, and that’s bloody unusual lately. I want to ask my mum first, I think I have to so she doesn’t drop dead of shock, but I’m going to do that, and then.” He shrugs. “See if Perrie says yes, I reckon.”

Louis hugs him so hard Zayn nearly fumbles the ring box, and the genuine, overwhelming happiness in Louis’s voice makes Zayn relax into him. “Congratulations, mate.”

“She could still turn me down though.”

“She won’t. Who would?” He claps Zayn on the shoulder and pulls back. “Have you said anything to Harry?”

Zayn looks at the little velvet box, circling his thumb against the lid. “Not yet. I haven’t, like, said anything to anyone. But I will. I don’t think I can carry on, you know, just like we have been. I don’t think that’d be fair.” He can’t really explain, even to himself, why it would be different; it’s never been cheating, and they’ve never been less than honest with each other, but for the first time since he and Perrie got together, he thinks he might not need to be with anyone else.

Louis hugs him so tight, and Zayn knows he’s making the right decision.

 

He rings Harry, thinking that this isn’t like breaking up with someone, really, nothing ending except the sex. But it’s odd to have spent so much time with him on tour and then to just not see him for a week, not text him, not talk.

“Zayn!” exclaims Harry, shutting a door on something loud at the other end of the phone. “Hiii.”

The sound of his voice makes Zayn smile. “Hey, mate. What are you up to?”

“Hanging at Ben’s, making a nuisance of myself.”

“Your dream evening, basically, then?”

Harry laughs, and Zayn can hear how much he likes being home, just in that sound. “I’m about to go for crepes. Did you want to talk?”

“Not, like, talk, but I have some news.”

“Good news?”

“Yeah, mate. Really good news.” He can’t keep the smile off his face. Perrie had cried, they both had, and everything about that moment had been right. Maybe more right than anything in his life before. “I asked Perrie to marry me.”

Harry whoops, and starts babbling congratulations, no hesitation at all. “Zayn, that’s amazing. That’s bloody fantastic, mate. Wow. Congratulations!”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. “It is. Thanks, Haz.”

“I’m so happy for you. I couldn’t be happier. I literally don’t think I could. Have you told everyone else yet?”

“You and Lou. And my family and all. But like, I reckon that’s what I’m doing tonight, letting the lads know.”

“We’ll throw you the best stag do the world has ever seen.”

“Bit premature on that, mate. But I know you will. You always come through when I need you.”

He tells Harry how he proposed, down on one knee properly. In the end, he doesn’t even have to say they won’t be sleeping together anymore, that he’s going to give monogamy a go. Harry says it first. “Reckon this means you’ll be keeping yourself to yourself on tour a bit more.”

“Yeah, like, I think it does. I don’t know how it’ll go for me, but I’m gonna try.”

“I have complete faith in you. If it’s what you and Perrie need, you’ll do it.”

“And you’ve got Lou still.”

Harry hesitates. “Well, Eleanor’s got Lou. But I borrow him sometimes. For a bit.”

Zayn wants to hug him, with his voice gone small like that. “Is that all right?”

“It’s better than the alternative,” says Harry finally. “Like, definitely better than the alternative.”

“I love you, mate.”

“I love you, too, Zayn.”

Harry and Eleanor circle each other warily when it’s finally the three of them together, unsure how they fit around Louis when they’re actually in the same room. They’ve discussed it—Harry’s always known Eleanor wasn’t the sort of person to try a threesome without negotiation—but it’s like looking at the X’s of the choreography on the floor and then having to try it himself. He’s sat on the bed in Louis’s hotel room, and he still feels as though he’s tripping over his own feet.

Australia has been kind to them all, and Harry watches Eleanor undress without looking away, sees the untanned parts of her skin for the first time, the pale curves of her breasts. He’s already naked, and Louis’s in his pants and nothing else, distracted from taking them off with his mouth on the side of Eleanor’s neck. She looks at Harry, and Harry feels like he’s interrupting until she holds out her hand.

“Let’s see what I’ve been missing then,” she says, and tilts her head for a kiss.

Louis nods him on, and Harry kisses her, her full lips parting under his. He can’t help comparing her to Louis, noticing the way she uses her teeth and wondering if Louis learned it from her or the other way round. Louis puts a hand on Harry’s waist, and Harry wonders if this is strange for him, watching Harry kiss her. And then he wonders if it’s strange for her, kissing him and not Louis.

“We don’t have to do this,” she says, as Harry’s mouth goes slack with uncertainty, and the words are just for him.

“I don’t want to not do it,” says Harry. 

“Kiss me now,” Louis tells him, and Harry leans into him, lets their lips meet. He shuts his eyes and falls into it without another thought, kissing Louis hungrily.

Eleanor touches Louis’s hand where it rests on Harry’s waist. “Come to bed, lads. No need for standing around.”

Harry’s finally seeing her in action, and he can see how different it is between them than between him and Louis. Louis is quiet and obedient for her, doesn’t tease and take the piss. Harry can’t help but follow her lead.

“I want to watch Harry fuck you,” she tells Louis, running her hand along his inner thigh, up to the curve of his arse, her fingers slick. Louis hums contentedly in response, spreads his legs wider. “He tells me how good you make him feel,” she adds for Harry’s benefit. Her smile is conspiratorial.

“Didn’t know I had a reputation to live up to,” replies Harry. He watches her work a finger into Louis’s arse, watches him arch up to take it.

“Can’t aim for mediocrity all your life, Styles,” Louis says shakily.

“I can and I will.” He can’t help himself; he rubs his finger over the rim of Louis’s hole, his hand brushing Eleanor’s. She hands him the lube without a word, inviting him in, and he can feel Louis trembling as they start to finger him open together. The awkwardness dissipates as they settle, hip to hip between Louis’s legs, finding the spaces they’re made to fit in. They open Louis up until he’s nearly crying and then soothe him back down again, leaving him slick and desperate enough to say “please”.

“You want him to fuck you, don’t you, babe?” she murmurs. Two of her fingers and two of Harry’s are pressed deep inside him, and Eleanor’s thumb is hooked around Harry’s, guiding him. “You want to show me how you take it.”

“Please,” says Louis again, his eyes moving hazily between them. There’s nothing cocky in him now, like when they strip him all the way down he’s nothing but want.

So Harry fucks him slow and deep, Louis gasping and moaning beneath him, already too sensitive, tender inside from their fingers. Harry watches Louis’s face, just like always, drinking in every little flutter of his lashes and twist of his mouth, his hands framing Louis’s hips to hold him in place.

Somehow the sound of Eleanor’s voice is a shock. “You’re beautiful like this, sweetheart,” she says, and Louis leans into the hand she strokes through his hair.

“Are you wet?” Louis asks breathlessly. “Can I touch you?”

Eleanor dips a hand down between her legs, lets him taste her fingers in answer, practically dripping. Louis moans and clenches down on Harry’s cock. They’re so easy together, and for a single, awful moment Harry’s sure there’s no place for him here, nothing he can offer that they don’t already have. But then Louis looks up and tells him, “Don’t stop, Haz. It’s so good.”

Harry has to pull out once to let Louis roll onto his belly. He buries his face between Eleanor’s legs, whimpering as Harry fucks into him again. Louis licks eagerly at her pussy, his mouth making wet little noises as he opens her up, Eleanor’s hands pulling him in and kneading at his scalp. Harry finds himself watching her now that he can’t see Louis’s face, and she’s watching him right back as Louis comes apart between them, like Eleanor’s pussy and Harry’s cock are all he ever needed. Louis’s never come untouched before, but Harry feels him now, the way he tightens and trembles and swears into Eleanor’s thigh. 

“Good boy,” she says, and she means Louis, but her eyes include Harry too.

It’s over so quickly after that, a sharp spiral of bliss, and Eleanor is gorgeous when she comes too, Louis’s fingers on her clit, his mouth working below. Harry feels equal parts exhausted and wired as they settle in a heap beneath the duvet, and although Louis falls asleep almost immediately, he and Eleanor are still watching each other in the dark.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Eleanor asks.

“I’m sorry,” says Harry, because he can’t lie, not now, not after months of fucking her boyfriend, not after he’s held her hand as she came on Louis’s tongue. “I didn’t mean to.”

She nods, watching Louis sleep between them, then holds out her hand again, palm up in the centre of Louis’s spine. “I think maybe we can work something out.”


End file.
